Bloody Gryffindors
by Gitana del Sol
Summary: Based on the rules and prompts of the Grand Battle Challenge. A certain vexing Gryffindor is testing Scorpius' patience, and it's all he can do not to hex her right in the middle of Potions class. Rated T for minimal language.


**Written within the prompts and parameters set forth by The Grand Battle Challenge, round 5, on Diagon Alley II. **

**Prompts used:**

Dialogue: "Abracadabra! Nope, you're still a bitch." (3)

Character: Scorpius Malfoy (5), Albus Potter (5), Rose Weasley (2), Lorcan Scamander (3)

Pairing: Lorcan/Rose (4)

Restrictions: no _interrogativo_ sentences (2), no dialogue (2), no character names (2)

Weasley Wizard Weezes: skeeving snackbox (1), fanged frisbee (1), Peruvian darkness poweder (1), edible death marks (1)

Potions: Polyjuice Potion (5), Felix Felicis (8)

* * *

He reached into his bag, shuffling around the parchment, the quills, the Skiving Snackbox he still had stashed into the small compartment, the books, the crushed…it looked like boomslang skin. Yeurgh, that must have been there since at least last week! They had to slice it up to add to the Polyjuice Potion they were brewing maybe a week or two ago, so that meant at best it was a 1-week-old rotten boomslang skin, at worst 2-weeks-old. Gross. He wrinkled his nose but didn't touch it, making a mental note to upturn his bag the moment he got back to the Slytherin common room so that he wouldn't have to touch the shriveled thing. Finally, crushed behind his Astronomy book, he found what he was looking for: Edible Dark Marks. His father hated them, but he thought they were rather tasty, whatever they looked like.

He pulled one out and, with a loud crackle, tore the packaging in two. That earned him a glower from his female Potions partner, who was hunched over her Potions book, wooden ladle in hand. Her dark eyes glittered through the haze with all the bite of a Fanged Frisbee, the red hair a flaming mess atop her head. The freckles that peppered the bridge of her nose had multiplied now that their Polyjuice Potion was simmering and bubbling and spitting dark, muddy droplets everywhere.

He glared back at her, refusing to back down, hoping she could feel the hatred bursting out of him. Merlin, how he detested her! Bloody self-righteous, bossy, pompous little thing. And she was little; at only five-foot-one, she came up only to about his shoulders. How she fit all that sass and attitude into her tiny frame was a mystery to him. As well as how she could be so bloody irritating…

He put the candy into his mouth and with a loud _snap! _bit off a piece between his teeth, hoping the sound irritated her. From the way her shoulders stiffened, he would say that it did. Good. Served her right, taking over this project as self-proclaimed leader of their group, all because her mother had taught her _everything _and had brewed this potion back in _her_ days when she was _twelve_.

An elbow nudged into his side, and he looked up. The face that met his belonged to his best friend, brilliant green eyes matching the green on his tie, hair as black as Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Normally, those green eyes were filled with mirth, but at the moment they were narrowed in a grimace, his friend's whole demeanor etched with discomfort. He could almost hear the silent plea for him to be nice. Ah, maybe he _was_ acting like a prat. After all, the girl, though a bossy little know-it-all to him, was his best mate's first cousin. They weren't particularly close (thank Merlin for small favours!) but they were family nevertheless. He was a Slytherin himself and came from a small but tightly knit and highly loyal family himself; if anyone understood the need to stand by family, it was him.

He gave a half-shrug that he hoped had come out looking more than just a twitch and, after riffling through his bag again, found a few more of the sweets. He held out a handful to his friend as a peace offering. The green eyes met his own silver ones, then flicked down at his outstretched hand and, after a second, crinkled as his mouth turned upwards in a genuine smile. The boy took two of the sweets and, shooting him a toothy grin in thanks, used his teeth to rip open the plastic wrapping.

_Crackle_, _snap_, _crunch_!

The boys cringed, shooting a glance in her direction only to find that they had earned themselves another glare. She had dipped the ladle into the potion and was stirring slowly counter-clockwise. He felt his irritation bubbling back again and, purely out of spite, he bit off a large piece and chewed on it with an open mouth so as to amplify the _crunch_, _crunch_, _crunch_, delighting in how her teeth grit together, how her hands clenched on the handle of the wooden ladle.

He glanced over at a group of two at the corner, just two tables down. Sitting there, moving languidly around the table, adding an ingredient here, a stir there, bopping up and down as they rose to inspect the contents of the cauldron, then dipped to press their noses to their books, were two boys. They were identical from the clunky brown shoes, to the blue-and-bronze striped ties of Ravenclaw House about their necks, to the dreamy expressions on their faces. He scowled. He couldn't understand why she hadn't gone to make a group of three with them. She was, after all, dating one of the twins, the one with the big, booming laugh who excelled at Care of Magical Creatures, like their father. How that poor soul could bear her company for so long, much less enjoy it, was beyond him, but regardless of this, the fact remained that it would have made more sense for her to sign up to work on a month-long Potions project with the Ravenclaw twins. Instead, she had signed up to work with himself and his best mate.

The sound of hissing brought his attention back around, and he was surprised to find his partner reprimanding his friend. Poor guy was attempting to placate her, shoulders slumped forward so that he appeared smaller than he was, his hands in front of him, palms up, in a clear sign of submission. Frowning, he shot his friend a look. There was a whole list of things that could make the little lioness go red with rage, but normally his mate tried and managed to avoid all of them. He received a sheepish grin in return and, after casting around a careful glance to make sure the Potions professor was busy with another group, his friend shifted and pulled a pocket of his robes open with two hands. Even in the dim lighting, with the murky haze engulfing them, he could easily make out the glint of a crystal vial, the golden contents swirling and smiling up at him from within.

Felix felicis shone whether you wanted it to or not.

Silver eyes round and wide, he looked up at his friend, who shrugged. He didn't know how the boy had managed to nick it or from where, but the fact that he had it with him and was suggesting it now meant that they were all in need of a bit of luck if they wanted to pass this assignment. A quick peek into the cauldron showed him a dark substance that was gurgling unpleasantly but was not nearly thick enough to be finished. He glanced at the clock. The hands indicated that they had less than twenty minutes left of class. They would never make it. This was to be their last class working on their Polyjuice Potion, and once the professor called time, each group would have to present a sample for grading, and his group would have this thin, sputtering, muddy mess. They would never make it, not without a bit, or three bits, of luck. Use any means to achieve their ends…well, he had an end in mind, and here was the means to do it! So long as no one found out, he didn't see why this would pose a problem. He hadn't been sorted into Slytherin for nothing!

He grinned, but his elation was short-lived. His mood soured immediately when he glanced up to find her glaring, shaking her head furiously. Fingers curling into fists at his sides, feeling like he was about to explode with frustration and impatience, he closed his eyes.

Abracadabra, abracadabra, abracadabra, he chanted, wishing she would just shut up or go away or be less of a stick-in-the-mud. It was just nonsense, he knew, a word he had gotten from a Muggle book he had found at his great-aunt's place. It had been the only incantation in there, the Muggle author's interpretation of what magic charms sounded like. It was ridiculous, of course, and absolutely ineffective, but he was seething, and he thought it best to stay away from real spells, lest he unintentionally perform a non-verbal spell.

He opened his eyes. She was hissing and scolding them, lecturing them both on complying with the rules and the injustice of using magical advancement, threatening expulsion and incarceration and all sorts of nastiness, her head never once stopping in its constant shaking from side to side.

Nope, you're still a bitch, he snarled as he glared at her. Not that he would ever say it aloud – at least, not with her cousin, his best friend, standing right beside him. But it made him feel better all the same.

He scowled, mentally prepping himself up for reduced marks as the professor came shuffling over to their table.

Bloody Gryffindors!

* * *

**Disclaimer: The opinions presented in the above smokelong are not representative of the author! I do love me some Slytherins, but, as you may have inferred from my avatar, I was sorted into Gryffindor House and am proud to be one! We rock, and I think we are brilliantly bad-ass! :]**


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